Pretending You're Okay
by DreamShadows
Summary: Thinking of his father and brother, Sam hides the severity of an injury, which is never a good thing.
1. Chapter 1

I thought of this story the other night when I was reading up on old stories in my home town, and thought you guys might like to read it...

Standard disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot... The characters and anything else pertaining to the show belong to Eric Kripke... _mumbles under her breath, 'they will be mine...' _I must thank the brilliant mind who introduced me to Sam...

Wow that disclaimer got really off track didn't it? Anyway, on with the story...

Hey guys if you're interested, I could use a beta for this piece… Let me know…

Enjoy.

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Sam walked down the hall towards his locker, cursing his Math teacher the whole way. '_Where the hell will you use imaginary numbers in the real world anyway? That little 'i' can go to hell!' _He thought, and switched his backpack to his other shoulder, as his side started to throb.

Opening his locker he pulled out his backpack and the books he needed for his weekend assignments. He closed and locked the door, before walking back the way he came, toward the entrance of school, where no doubt his father and brother would be waiting for him. There was a hunt in Chaffee, a small town three hours ride away, his father wanted them to do that weekend, and he wanted to leave just as soon as Sam got out of school.

Sam walked out the door, and as he suspected, his father was waiting there in his black truck, and Dean was behind him in the Impala. Still not too happy with his brother over the argument they had that morning before Sam had left for school, Sam walked towards his father's truck, ignoring the surprised look the man gave him, and the spike of pain in his side, as he jumped in the cab with him.

Since turning seventeen, Sam and his father had rarely if ever gotten along, the similarities between the two, repelling each other; but the times when Dean and Sam were on the verge of ripping each other to pieces, those were the times Sam and John got along the best.

"So Sammy, how was school?" John asked casually, choosing to remain ignorant of the look of confusion on Sam's face. School was a topic that the Winchesters never discussed, because it usually became a top point in the many arguments that went on in the house.

XXXXXXXXX

John watched as his youngest son jumped in the truck, clearly displaying his surprise that Sam would actually choose to ride with him. He had to hide the concern he felt, as he saw Sam suppress a wince as he pulled his side. The wound from the last hunt, must still have been bothering Sam, John just hoped it wasn't infected.

"So Sammy, how was school?" John asked, trying to get his son talking, and ignoring the confused look Sam sent him.

"Uh, it was okay. The math teacher needs to get his head out of his ass, but other than that, it was fine." Sam answered slowly, looked at his father as if the man had two heads.

"I know what you mean, I never was any good at math, Mary had to help me with that a lot." Sam looked at his father, surprise entering his expression. His father had never told him that before. The rest of the ride was spent with easy conversation between the two, a rare occurrence for the two Winchesters.

XXXXX

Three hours later John pulled the truck in to a motel, right smack in the middle of Chaffee, with Dean following him into the parking lot. After parking, John reached over and shook Sam awake, the youngest Winchester blinking at him owlishly in his dazed state. John could see the glazed look in Sam's eyes, and he had felt the heat on his skin as he had shook him awake, and the oldest Winchester was immediately concerned for his youngest son.

"You okay?" He asked Sam, and when Sam nodded, he sighed; trusting that Sam would tell him if it was anything serious. John got out of the truck, and with the door still open, he said, "I'm going to get us a room, why don't you get out and stretch for a few minutes, maybe gather up the gear?" Sam nodded and opened his own door, then jumped out of the truck.

John turned and walked towards the motel office, trying his hardest to suppress the concern for his youngest that kept cropping up. He grabbed the door handle of the office, and taking a deep breath to calm his nerves, he pulled open the door and walked inside.

XXXXX

Sam jumped down out of the truck, and winced as streaks of pain shot through his side. Looking around he made sure no one was looking and he gingerly lifted his shirt, to look down at the gash he had gotten on the last hunt.

_Sam looked around him, trying to determine where the Wendigo had gone. They were sneaky little (big) bastards, and Sam had been split away from Dean and his father when they had gone to follow the beast._

_Sam only had a second to react when he heard the crack of a branch to the left of him, before the creature lunged at him. Sam threw himself out of the way, but not before the Wendigo sunk one of his long claws into Sam's side, and the young hunter cried out. Steadying the gun in his hands, Sam aimed at the creature, who had gotten back up and was running at him again. He fired the gun, letting the flare loose. Sam watched in fascination as the flare embedded itself into the Wendigo's chest and turned his head as the creature was lit on fire._

Sam had down played the wound, and thankfully his father had left him alone, and had let Sam take care of his own wound, and though Dean had been suspicious, he had let Sam take care of himself. That had been a week ago, and Sam had been taking good care of the wound, but the afternoon before they had been playing football in gym, and Sam had been tackled to the ground outside. The gash had gotten filthy, and Sam hadn't been able to clean it right away, only taking care of his wound after the class had ended, when he had gotten a shower in the locker room.

The dirt had had enough time to set in and do a good amount of damage by then, but Sam had thought that maybe he would get lucky and nothing would happen. Feeling the raw soreness of the wound now, Sam wasn't so sure he was going to get his wish.

The edges of the gash were raw and red, and Sam grimaced. He prodded the wound, and suppressed a gasp aspain lanced through him. The raised skin around the edge was hot to the touch, and Sam knew that even if the gash hadn't been infected before, it sure was now. There was no denying the signs, and though Sam may have been able to hide the severity of the injury until then, he knew that it was only a matter of time before his father or brother found out about the infection.

Sighing he pulled his shirt back down and turned to grab his bag from the back of the truck. As he pulled the heavy duffle out, his side screamed at him, and he let out an involuntary whimper of pain. He dropped the duffle to the pavement and wrapped his arm around himself, doubling over.

Sam felt a heavy hand on his shoulder, and he could hear his father's concerned voice, but he couldn't make out what the older man was saying. Everything was fading in and out, dulling around him. Another hand wrapped itself around his waist, and Sam moaned as the familiar weight of his brother's arm settled onto his side.

"Sam?" The voice was far away and muffled. Sam turned toward it, his eyes clenched in pain. He made himself straighten and regretted the action as dizziness settled in. Sam opened his eyes, to find Dean looking worriedly at him.

"Dean?" He asked, the word sticking in his throat as his vision tilted and tipped.

"I'm here Sammy," Dean answered, the concern for him clear on his normally closed of expression.

"Hurts," he whimpered, and lost his fight against the swirling in his head. His knees let out, and he collapsed, the only things keeping him off the ground, his father and brother's hands.

He groaned as his brother's hand bit into his side harder. Spikes of pain seared through him, and the tilting of his vision worsened. He closed his eyes, only to feel a slight slap to his face, and hear his brother tell him to keep his eyes open.

"M'sorry," he whispered and gave into the darkness that was calling him.

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A/N: So I hope you enjoyed. Review and tell me if you did, or tell me if you didn't.

Take care,

OSS


	2. Chapter 2

Okay guys… I have officially been wowed past any standards at the response you have given me on this story! I'm so happy!

Okay… Looks around embarrassedly…

Anyway…

Many thanks go out to **TammiTam **for volunteering her beta'ing services for this story… She did a wonderful job…

Enjoy…

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Chapter 2: 

'_Waste away, I'm crawling blind  
Followed by what I left inside...'  
-Red, Hide  
_

Dean watched his brother collapse as if in slow motion. He watched as Sam's eyes had rolled into the back of his head, and as all the strength had left his body. The elder Winchester brother couldn't believe what was happening, just that morning he and Sam had been at each other's throats over a stupid girl, and now... _now_ Sam was still, a dead weight in his arms. 

From where Sam's body touched his, Dean could feel the heat radiating from his little brother. He couldn't help but wonder how long Sam had been feeling bad, to keep it from him like he had. He had always been a whiz at hiding his emotions, but Sam had usually been an open book, and for him to hide something like this from his family, from _Dean..._

_What the hell had he been thinking?  
_

"We need to get him inside," his father's voice drew Dean from his thoughts, and he had never been so glad for an interruption. "Quickly Dean, c'mon." 

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_This can __**not **__be happening!  
_

John watched as his youngest fell, and his heart clenched painfully in his chest. He had known that something was wrong the moment he had touched Sam to wake him in the truck. He couldn't believe that he had let the issue go with a simple nod from Sam, telling him that he was okay, when clearly he was **not**! 

"We need to get him inside," his own voice startled John. He had not been aware he had even opened his mouth, but the words were spoken in his voice, so John supposed he had. Looking down at Sam, he realized that the comment had been a true one. They _did _need to get Sam inside, and they had to do it before anyone saw them. 

"Quickly Dean, c'mon," he urged, bending down to wrap Sam's left arm around his shoulders, as Dean did the same with his right. Together the eldest Winchesters maneuvered Sam to the room John had gotten for the next week, not caring about the gear they had left sitting in the parking lot, only that they get the youngest of their family to a bed. Get him to a bed where they could properly assess just what had gone wrong. 

John and Dean dragged Sam over to the bed farthest from the door, both of them not realizing what they were doing out of habit. Laying him down gently, John left Dean there with him, and ran out to the truck to grab the duffle which carried their first aid kit and again leaving the rest of the gear, he ran back into the room, shutting the door against prying eyes and any danger that might come along. 

XXXXX 

Sam was floating. He could feel the pain from his side, but it was as if it were far away, the alternating throbs and spikes only echoes of what they had been when he had been fully aware of his surroundings. He could feel hands on him, and movements around him, but just as with the pain, everything was far away. 

_Nothing could touch him...  
_

Sam smiled at the thought, or at least he thought he had. With the distance between his mind and his body, he couldn't be sure if everything was working like he thought it was. 

_Dad and Dean must be freaked.  
_

The thought was amusing, but Sam knew it was probably true. He wasn't awake, he knew that, and he also knew that he was really asleep. He was out of it, against his will, and Dean and his father would never be happy about that. It was never a good thing when he didn't have a choice of being awake, asleep, or a combination of both. That usually meant he was sick, or hurt, or a combo of the two; and if he knew his family like he thought he did, that meant they were doing some pretty heavy freaking. 

Again Sam smirked at the thought. He couldn't really imagine either his brother, or his hard-assed father actually freaking out and losing composure. Inwardly laughing at the thought of either man running around screeching like a girl, Sam once again slipped into the darkness that encompassed him. 

XXXXX 

Dean Winchester was not a doctor by any means, but when he saw the gash in his brother's side he knew it was bad. The edges were red and raised, and when Dean felt them, the heat made him flinch. The heat coming from the rest of his little brother's body couldn't have meant anything good either. 

Pulling Sam's shirt over his head as gently as he could, Dean sighed to himself. Why his brother would do anything as stupid as to keep his health a secret, he would never know. 

Dean leaned over to get a better look at the jagged laceration in his brother's left side. Trying to look past the raised, red edges, the elder brother used his thumbs on either side of the wound and pulled the edges apart a little. Dean looked up, hoping for a reaction from Sam, but the younger man never moved. 

Swallowing down his disappointment, Dean turned his attention back to the gash and peered inside. He could see dirt congealed in fresh blood, and as he pried a little more, yellowish-green puss seeped out. "Dammit Sammy," Dean hissed, "you know better than this. You know to clean a wound, and keep it clean." His tone was soft, but the words were hard. 

_Sam knew this!  
_

"What were you thinking?" Dean whispered, getting up with a deep sigh. He walked to the bathroom, and grabbed a small wash towel. Leaning over the sink, he turned on the water and waited for it to warm. All the while he was thinking to himself the same thing, _Watch out for Sammy._ The order had been instilled in him when he had been four, and he couldn't help thinking that he had failed. 

XXXXX 

John walked in the room just as Dean came out of the bathroom carrying a wet wash cloth. "How is he?" The eldest Winchester asked, looking pointedly at the unconscious and feverish boy on the bed. 

"Stupid," Dean answered automatically, his voice almost a growl. 

"Now hold on-" John started, but was cut off when Dean all but yelled at him. 

"No! There is no excuse for this dad. He didn't properly clean the damn gash, and he let it get infected! He could-" 

"Dean," John cut his eldest off softly, "I checked the wound the night he got it, while he was sleeping. He did clean it right, he did a damn good job of it. It that wound is dirty, it must have happened recently." Dean looked as if he had been struck. 

"Oh, okay," he answered slowly, looking sorrowfully at his brother. The younger man was now shivering, and his body heat seemed to have shot up in the time it had taken Dean to get in and out of the bathroom. "Shit," he mumbled, and moved to sit beside Sam. "Dad, get the thermometer," Dean ordered, not caring that it was his father he had talked that way to, his brother being more important at the moment. 

John looked surprised at Dean's tone for a moment, before he shook his head and unzipped the duffle bag. Rooting through the contents of the bag, he searched for the familiar tool, all the while hoping that when he found it, the little machine would give him good news about Sammy. Finally feeling the device, John pulled his hand out of the bag triumphantly, and handed the small piece of plastic to Dean. 

Dean took the object without a word, and checking to make sure it worked right, he took the plastic covering off the end. Placing his pointer and middle finger on Sam's chin, he gently pried open the younger boy's mouth, and placed the end of the thermometer under Sam's tongue. He then closed Sam's mouth and waited for the beep that would determine how things were handled. 

It took a minute, but the beep came, and with it, Dean's anxiety shot through the roof. "Uh, Dad?" Dean asked, waiting for the older man to look at him, "we got a problem," he said looking down at the reading off the thermometer. 

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A/N: So I hope you all enjoyed this, review and tell me either way.

Take care yah'all,

OSS


	3. Chapter 3

Hey guys! Sorry it took me so long to update this, but as I told TammiTam, my computer hasn't been accepting disks for the past few days, and this chapter was written on a different computer without internet… So I had to wait… Oh and sorry about some of the wording in this chapter, I was channeling Missouri when I wrote it!

As my apology to you guys, I ended up extending this chapter, I made it almost two pages longer…

Your reviews as always warmed my heart, and I sincerely hope you like this chapter…

Big thanks again goes to **TammiTam **for beta'ing this story.

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**Three Hours Later, Louisiana General Hospital:  
**

When Dean had told his father that Sam had a temperature of 103.8, the oldest Winchester hadn't hesitated in bringing him to the hospital. The Winchester's avoided hospitals by nature, but when one of them needed medical treatment that couldn't be provided by family, they wouldn't try to solve the problem themselves, knowing the stupidity of the action.

So when John had come in, carrying his youngest and screaming for help, with a pitiful Dean following closely behind, nurses had flocked. Sam had been whisked away on a stretcher, and with a few brusque questions, Dean and John had been told to wait in the dreaded waiting room for news.

That had been three hours, and four coffee trips ago.

Neither John or Dean were particularly good at being patient, and both men had gone through pacing, growling, and bickering with each other. Both had been concealing their worry, albeit in stupid ways, from each other; and neither had been successful in their actions.

Sammy was and always had been the heart of their family, and if anything happened to him, neither John nor Dean were sure if they could go on with the loss. They weren't sure they could get by without Sam.

To put it bluntly, the eldest Winchesters would end up killing each other without Sam's influence. Both men were too pig-headed to completely agree with each other, and though it usually ended up that Sam and John argued, it was almost always a concept that Dean and their father didn't agree on either.

Without Sam, the remaining Winchesters would be a disaster.

Dean sighed for the umpteenth time and ran his hand roughly through his shorn hair. He needed to hear what was happening with Sam, he needed to know if his brother was okay, but it seemed that no one in the hospital understood that, and had left him to sit there, worrying about his little brother. Grinding his teeth and groaning, Dean slumped down in the chair.

Didn't they get that without Sammy, there was no Dean? Didn't they get that without his little brother there to stable him, Dean would blow? _Didn't they get it?  
_

Obviously they didn't and as the hours passed, Dean was starting to get that fact. No one in the hospital seemed to have a brother or sister that they looked after, that they loved and would do anything for. No one seemed to get what Dean was feeling, and wasn't that just a pooper?

Bring both hands up to scrub at his face, Dean groaned, and wrinkled his nose. _Why does this always happen to you Sammy?_ He asked himself, wishing that he really had an answer for the question that had plagued him for years. It seemed like everywhere the Winchesters went, the Supernatural liked to follow, and it seemed like they always had their sights set on Sam.

_Just please get better Sammy. __**Please!  
**_

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John Winchester was not a patient man, he never had been, and chances were he was never going to be. So why then did it seem like the doctors and nurses of the hospital were mocking him and his inability to wait for answers?

_Assholes... _John thought to himself with a rueful grin.

Growling low in his throat, the oldest Winchester stood, and started pacing the length of the floor for the third time since they had been so kindly asked to wait in the waiting room. The whole situation with not knowing what was going on with Sam wasn't making him feel any better, and if he had his way, John would have been at Sam's side, not waiting in some sterile white room, filled with uncomfortable chairs and out of date magazines.

After a while, John groaned and plopped back down in the chair he had vacated, giving Dean a knowing look when his eldest looked at him. Dean wasn't taking the waiting any better than he was, knowing Dean, his son was probably having a harder time waiting than he was.

The bond his boys shared was something to be envious of, with the exception being when one of them was hurt or sick. That's when the bond became a nuisance, a hazard that led the healthy brother to a mothering like state until the other brother was better.

The way Dean looked now, drawn and haggard, John wished that he could take the weight off his shoulders. He wished that he could share some of the responsibility that Dean felt every moment Sam was apart from them. He wished that he could knock Dean out to get him to stop that incessant grinding.

But since he couldn't, or wouldn't do any of those things, John resigned himself to sinking further down in the chair and sighing; unconsciously mimicking his son in his actions. He couldn't help wondering what was taking the doctors so long to figure out what was wrong with Sammy. Then his mind switched to a worry that was eating away at him, he just wanted to known what was happening to his baby boy.

The look on Dean's face when he had told him what Sam's temperature was had been torturous.

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"_Uh Dad?" Dean asked looking over at his father. "We've got a problem."  
_

"_What?" John asked sharply, trying to figure out what was wrong. Dean's face had drained of color, and his oldest was shaking.  
_

"_S-Sam's," Dean grunted, clearing his throat, "Sam's got a temperature dad." Dean stated, obviously not realizing that John already knew that little fact.  
_

"_Yeah," John asked, trying to sound gentler this time.  
_

"_It's, it's uh, a hundred and three point eight dad," Dean told him, shock reading clearly on his face.  
_

"_Shit Dean," John breathed, watching as his eldest nodded, knowing what he was thinking. "Hospital, now!" John ordered, bending over to pick Sam up, his gangly legs and arms hanging limp, as his head lolled onto John's shoulder.  
_

_XXXXX  
_

"Family of Sam Cole?" A young man in scrubs asked, walking into the waiting room.

John and Dean both practically shot up from the uncomfortable chairs. "Yeah?" They asked in unison.

The man skittered back a little bit, but covered up the move with a small smile. "When you brought Sam in, he had a high fever as you know, and the..." he looked down at his chart before continuing, "football? wound was infected." Both Winchesters nodded, practically riveted by the man.

"Well right now, Sam seems to be holding his own, and we've ruled out septicemia, which is good. We are administering a course of antibiotics, and have Sam on a nasal canula, which we are hoping will get rid of the infection." Both men sagged at the news, hoping that meant that Sam was going to be fine.

"But we are concerned about Sam's fever. It seems to be heading to Hyperpyrexia, which can lead to seizures and organ failure, and ultimately death. We're concerned about this possibility because even with the antibiotics Sam's temperature hasn't gone down yet, and has risen to just over one hundred and four.

"We're monitoring him very closely, and have placed him in the ICU for now. If his fever doesn't go down soon, Sam may be in for a very rough time."

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Dean had sat by Sam's side since the doctors had told him he was allowed to see his brother. The youngest Winchester was incredibly pale, as if all the blood had been drained from his face, and at the same time, he was flushed, a rosy hue lining his cheeks. Wires and tubes ran everywhere, seeming to dwarf his usually towering sibling.

The thing that really got to Dean, that really made him stop and draw a breath was the fact that his brother was so _still_.

In his life his little brother had never been still, having been diagnosed with ADHD when he was eight, and suffering from night terrors that left him tossing and turning during the night. If Sam would so much as twitch, Dean would have been content to believe that he was just asleep rather than unconscious, but though Dean watched, the younger boy never moved.

Dean sighed and looked up at the monitor that displayed his brother vitals. His fever was still hovering between 103.7 and 104.1, and Dean couldn't help but cringe every time he saw the numbers head higher. His respiratory effort was up to 96 with the help of the nasal canula, which even though wasn't one hundred percent, he could live with. His heart rate was a little fast and his breathing a little slow, but other than that there was nothing that told Dean what was happening.

Reaching over, Dean ran his fingers gently through his brother's long, sweat soaked locks. The action had often comforted Sam when he had been little, and though he wasn't responding to the touch now, it made Dean feel better to do something he knew used to help. Snagging a knot with his fingers, Dean played with the clump of hair until it fell apart in his fingers, before he went back to his repetitive stroking.

If the situation had been different, Dean would have been embarrassed to express his feelings as he was, but with Sam lying in the hospital bed, the older brother was willing to do anything to help. He knew Sam would probably tease him about the way he was acting if he were awake to witness it, and Dean wished he was, but the younger hunter wasn't, and no teasing words left the slightly parted lips.

_You better pull through Sammy. What am I gonna do without my pain in the ass little brother?  
_

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John Winchester watched as Dean, seemingly unaware that anyone else was in the room, threaded his fingers through Sam's hair. The man could remember when Dean had used the motions when Sammy had been little, the action soothing him. He almost wished that it had been him that had taken care of his youngest, but the bond Dean and Sam had developed was enough for him to see that it had been a good thing for the boys.

John squeezed the lax hand he was holding, and placed the joined hands on his crossed legs, leaning back in his chair as he did so. Using his other hand, he wearily scrubbed his face, the calloused palm catching a little on his stubble-ridden chin.

Oh, how he wished this hadn't happened. He wished that his youngest wasn't lying so deathly still in a hospital bed. He wished he and Dean weren't sitting there, watching and praying for Sammy to be alright.

_Damn it, he wished for a do-over!  
_

But do-over's were a rare thing for the Winchesters, and he somehow doubted that he would get a do-over in this situation. Yet watching his youngest fight against the toxins that raged in his body, John couldn't help but wish for what he couldn't have.

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A/N: So I hope you all enjoyed this chapter… Let me know as always either way…

Take care,

OSS


	4. Chapter 4

Hey guys… I just wanted to thank you all for your support of this story. It really makes an author's heart feel good to know people like her (their) story enough to tell her.

Thanks again to TammiTam for her wonderful work as beta.

I hope you all enjoy this chapter!

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Dean looked haggard and worn, his usually handsome features drawn and tired. For three days Sam had been in the ICU, for three days Dean had watched and waited by his brother's bedside. For three days Sam's eyes had been shut, his breathing uneven, and his temperature higher than normal.

The fever had raged for the first sixty two hours, leaving Sam a sweating, shaking, flushed, unconscious mess on the bed. Then a little after the clock hit two am on Wednesday morning, Sam's fever had started to go down. Slowly but surely the temperature had dropped so that it was now settling between 102 and 102.4.

Dean had refused to leave Sam's side since he had been admitted to the hospital, and he had watched all that had happened to his baby brother with trepidation. When the younger man's fever had started to go down, Dean had been ecstatic. Although the doctor had explained that until the fever was down to or under 101, Sam wasn't out of the woods, Dean had known from the start that Sam was going to pull through.

Now as he watched his brother's chest rise and fall steadily, his hope soared. His little brother was getting better, and no matter what any doctor told him, he was just going to believe that Sammy was going to be okay.

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John watched his sons with a smile on his face. Sammy was getting better, and he knew that, no matter what any doctor told him. Since Sam was getting better, Dean was smiling more, and seemed to feel better.

Dean had a tendency to worry until he made himself sick. Most times the worry was about Sam, and something he had or would do. Watching Dean since Sam had first gotten sick, the eldest Winchester had seen the dark circles form and he had seen the lines deepening on his forehead and around his eyes.

The fact was that John had been worried about both his boys. If Sam was hurt or sick, chances were, Dean wasn't far behind, and having both his sons out of commission and injured or in the hospital was not something that John could deal with. He loved his boys deeply, even if that love wasn't always shown clearly or in the right ways.

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**  
Four days later...**

Sam's fever had broken completely the night before, and though the youngest member of the little hunting family had yet to awaken, both older hunters were relieved. Sam's pallor had gotten better, the flush to his cheeks all but gone. His respiratory efforts were better and his heart rate was normal. The only thing that lingered to tell Dean and John that Sam was unconscious rather than asleep was the clear tubing that ran into the back of his hand, and the feeding tube that ran up into his nose and down into his stomach.

The doctors had decided on day four of Sam's semi coma that it was time the growing young man needed nutrients. Since Sam was unconscious and unable to properly feed himself, the feeding tube had been inserted. It had been the only time Dean had left the room, not wanting to see the procedure done to his baby brother, afraid it might cause him discomfort or hurt him, both of which Dean had no desire to see.

Now the only thing John and Dean had to wait for was the youngest member of their family to wake up. Sam's eyes had been fluttering the whole morning, and little sounds had escaped his lips every once and a while. Every time either thing happened the older hunters were at Sam's side, watching, waiting, encouraging him to wake.

So when Sam turned his head to the side and moaned, Dean shot up from the chair and latched onto his brother's hand. "Sammy?" Dean asked quietly, his voice scratchy from disuse.

"Unh," Sam's grunted reply had Dean squeezing his hand. When Sam squeezed back, Dean grinned, wishing his father hadn't left to stretch his legs.

"Hey Sammy, c'mon little brother, open them eyes." At Dean's request, Sam grunted something that sounded like a petulant, "no," and Dean laughed. "Don't tell me no, Sammy."

"Jus' did," Sam slurred, not opening his eyes.

"I know you stubborn ass. You've been sleeping for over a week Sammy-boy, enough is enough." Dean grinned.

"Wha'?" Sam asked, slitting his sleep glazed eyes open a crack.

"It's true little brother. You collapsed in the parking lot of the motel, leaving dad and me to carry you here." The thought sobered Dean, and the grin slipped from his face, as he thought to himself how Sam had fallen, his whispered 'sorry,' lingering in the air between their small family.

"Don' 'member," Sam coughed and scrubbed his hand over his face, his fingers catching on the tube that was taped under his nose. Dean handed him a cup of water before he could ask what the annoying thing was doing in his nose, and he gratefully drank the cool, soothing liquid.

"The doctor finally decided that you needed eat," Dean told Sam when his fingers were again drawn to the tubing that ran into his nose. At the answer, Sam clearly made an 'ew' face, and Dean laughed again. "Yeah I thought so too."

"Pansy," Sam mumbled, looking up at his brother from under his lashes.

"Sam," Dean exclaimed, clapping his hand to his chest, "me a pansy? I think not!"

"Are too, you probably held my hand and chick-flicked yourself out, didn't you?" Sam's grin widened, his dimples deepening. Dean's heart melted unexpectedly, the sight of the smile too much for him to bear after a week of doing without.

"Sam," he started, untangling his fingers from his brother's and instead placing his hand on Sam's shoulder.

"About what I said," he took a deep breath and looked up to see Sam's grin disappear. "I mean I know you want to see what college is like, and I guess if that's what you want, I can deal with it, I just wish you hadn't hidden it from me."

"I know, I'm sorry Dean." Sam's voice was almost a whisper and his eyes held only the truth.

"I don't hate you, and you're not selfish," Dean breathed.

"Don' hate you either big brother," Sam told him softly.

"So we good?" Dean asked after a minute.

"Yeah," Sam took a breath and added, "Now all I have to do is tell dad. He's gonna kill me." Sam ducked his head as Dean nodded seriously.

"You got that right Sam."

END.

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A/N: So I hope you all enjoyed this ending, let me know.

Take care,

OSS


End file.
